


Everything Intended

by skerb



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Undertail (Undertale), Blow Jobs, Consentacles, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Ecto-Tentacles (Undertale), Ecto-Tongue (Undertale), Ecto-Vagina (Undertale), Emotional Constipation, Gentle Sex, Gentleness, Grinding, Kink Negotiation, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Sans/Underfell Sans (Undertale), Sanscest - Freeform, Sensitive bones, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Underfell Sans (Undertale), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, commitment issues, kind of, kustard - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22188556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skerb/pseuds/skerb
Summary: The intent was to fuck with Sans. The intent was to come out on top, not to allow Sans to dictate him into self-love. Red always has an ace up his sleeve, but it means nothing when Sans has all the cards.Tentacle self-loving. Incredibly self-indulgent. :D Inspired by TDoomPoet's beautiful art on twitter (nsfw)
Relationships: Kustard, Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 180





	Everything Intended

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TDoompoet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TDoompoet/gifts).
  * Inspired by [the best of you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17661044) by [nilchance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nilchance/pseuds/nilchance). 



Sans is on the bed, hooked up to an old laptop with a pair of headphones like someone trying to transcribe 80’s porn from a defunct website. Having very recently showered, Red tosses his towel next to the bed and sprawls out next to him, encroaching upon Sans’ personal space as nakedly as possible. He’s got a grin to match, but Sans doesn’t even turn his head.

Sans has seen it. His eyes drift down towards his peripheral vision to gaze at Red’s pelvis, but he’s got a deadline. Not a self-imposed deadline either, otherwise he would’ve tossed this project the first chance he got. It means a lot to a certain person that he gets it done, which means no funny business for at least the next four hours.

Red tries his luck by inching more into his personal space, and Sans has a moment of unbridled control that would make Papyrus do a double take.

“I gotta get this done,” is his half-hearted attempt to forestall the inevitable.

“Then get it done,” Red retorts with no amount of scruples. To prove his point on how willing he is to wait, he folds his arms behind his head and hooks one leg over his other knee to bob his foot. “I’m a patient fellow.”

“`Fellow`. Sure, Reagan.”

“The guy says `fellow` once and you take it up as his catchphrase like it’s your goddamn vocation,” Red snarks, but his grin remains quirked as though something interesting has caught his eye. “You’re tense.”

It’s nothing Sans isn’t deeply aware of. His back hurts like a bitch after sitting slouched over the goddamn laptop for the past three hours. He’s still got a lot left to filter through, and the more he listens, the more it irritates him. As much as Red is a distraction _(and a lovely one at that),_ pushing a little further past the current subject matter in the files is more important than sex.

Or at least it would be, if he wasn’t up for grinding one out pretty much 24/7. Red knows exactly which buttons to push to the point where he doesn’t even need to touch the remote anymore. He just sits on the couch and--ok, yeah, maybe this metaphor has gotten a little crazy.

The point is that he doesn’t miss the way Red pointedly said ‘you look like shit and I noticed’. It’s basically a demand to take a break. It’s Red’s version of doing everything but giving him a damn back rub. Sans hesitates for a long moment, then idly stretches like he plans on going straight back to it. He must be on his game since the next time he glances at Red, there’s something different in the way he looks at him. His eyes are downcast, deep in thought.

Then it’s gone. Red’s grin twitches knowingly, pretending like Sans didn’t see a damn thing. Sans won’t point it out and even if he did, Red would cite temporary blindness on his part. The denial is equally thick on both sides so much a person could get stuck in the bog of their relationship--such as it is.

Sans tosses the headphones and flops onto his back, giving him a bird’s-eye view of Red’s tailbone to boot. He plays it off like he doesn’t care, only looks past it to Red’s wagging brow like the lech he is.

There aren’t any feelings, but Sans does detect a bit of a squeeze behind his ribs, like someone’s trying to pinch the top of his soul into submission every time he thinks about it. Looking at Red does that to him sometimes. It must be indigestion. Or whatever the monster equivalent is.

Probably.

“Break?” Red asks, trying and, if Sans strains his hearing, failing to quell his excitement. Or is it interest? Honestly, everything is a rubik’s cube of questionable morals when it comes to Red.

“Go on, then,” Sans sighs after a moment, unable to help the snarky grin despite himself. “Three minutes won’t kill me.”

Red almost makes a strangled, indignant noise. Sans counts it as a win, because on some level Red and Sans are the same and there’s a never-ending game of snark and bite behind every one of their interactions. Red turns it around and laughs, delight in his eyes, while Sans curls up on his side to drink in the state of him.

He closes the laptop with his foot, as Sans doesn’t trust Red to not bug the webcam in the screen and record him picking at his nasal aperture when he’s bored at work. He also doesn’t need to give him spank bank material either.

Instead, Sans keeps to his back when Red rolls over, straddling his hips as he crawls over him. His grin is bright and pretty, pointed teeth more a comfort than a threat nowadays. A deep ripple of tension sprawls throughout Sans’ body, shuddering up his spine when his hands come to rest at Red’s bare hips. Grinning a little lazily to himself and fully aware of how fast his will crumbled, Sans gives in to a soft sigh as Red begins to grind against him.

“Hi,” Sans says, nonchalance and bare throatiness in his tone.

Red’s grin sharpens. “Hi yourself.”

Sans’ hands notch into familiar grooves, slotting against bones he’s well acquainted with. He pulls up a hand to grasp at Red’s elbow, doing what he shouldn’t, but he doesn’t care anymore. He pulls Red down and at the same time hooks his fingers into Red’s collar to keep him where he wants, pressing their mouths together. It’s a little clumsy at this angle, but its tenderness makes a shudder travel up Red’s back, traitorous as it is unwarranted. Red’s breath hitches by bare degrees, hot gasps mingling with his own.

Red makes a noise low in his throat like he knows what Sans is doing, pressing his luck by seeing how far Red’ll let him go. It doesn’t help that it glides under his metaphorical skin, shuddering into his soul like the sweetest of vibrations. Sans’ kisses have become addictive, smooth and heady like dark liquor and heavy smoke.

But because Red’s an ass, he moves to end the kiss. His grin’s a little crooked, like he’s trying and failing to wear Sans’ expression. Sans shoots him a knowing look, predatory in his own way. He’s learned a lot from being with Red.

“Three minutes, eh,” Red murmurs, his breaths falling heavily against Sans’ jaw. “Y’sure you don’t mean thirty?”

Sans bends up to capture another kiss, shifting his hips so Red’s pelvis slides over his lap. His grin shows between kisses, just as bright as Red’s is, even though he’s not giving him anything. Sans is fine to orchestrate for once.

Red makes an interested little noise. “If not thirty, then-” He stops, letting a shiver crawl up his spine when Sans jerks the collar closer to him, a sharp pain that makes his breath catch with interest. “-Then, maybe an hour.”

It’s cute how Red’s trying to wheedle his way into Sans’ free time. Not like Sans has the heart to deny him, but it’s endearing all the same. Belatedly, Sans realises that calling Red ‘cute’ is like calling an angler fish sweet, but he’s already in this deep. One of his hands sinks a little lower down to Red’s sternum as he pulls him forward into another tender kiss, and Sans can practically feel the way Red trembles over him when he thumbs over the scars on his chest.

Red attempts to take control of their position, but Sans glides his fingers down the collar, eliciting a shudder so hard it makes his fingers clatter against Red’s clavicle. Sans huffs out in amusement, delight in his eyes even though he represses it when Red gives him a pointed look.

Red curls his fingers around Sans’ dainty hand, carefully manoeuvring it away from him so he can regain ground. There’s something in his eyes when he murmurs, all hot want and nothing held back, “Now, now, Sansy.”

There’s a lit promise in the words. Nothing said, but everything inferred. Sans’ brow lofts slightly with interest as he settles back, a rough chuckle touching his words when he murmurs right back, hot enough to light a fuse at the base of Red’s spine.

“What? You haven’t told me off yet. Afraid of a little distraction? You’re the one that pulled me away.”

It’s a little accusatory, but Red lets it slide for now. Instead, he readjusts where he sits, making a point to grind against the heat he feels radiating from Sans’ pelvis. Sans rewards him with a throaty noise, held back and out of reach. Red clicks his tongue in reprimand and tries to coax it out again.

Something in Sans’ eyes glints as a dead giveaway, something Red’s tried to pry out of him for the past couple of weeks or more. Sans reverses their positions, a sting of discomfort and even pain brightening Red’s expression. He’s pushed against Red, his bony ass planted firmly in Red’s lap, leaning over like he tripped and landed on him instead of anything else. Sans’ breathing gets a little funny when he pulls a cheapshot like this. Like he expects Red to fight back when he’s feisty. But nah, it’s more fun when Red lets him think he’s got the upper hand.

It’s one of those days where Sans _really_ slums up; a ratty old t-shirt that’s three times bigger than he is drapes over his frame, making him look smaller than he actually is. There’s enough room to sneak a hand up his hip and into the space between his ribs and pelvis, but Sans grabs Red’s wrists and pins him in place to stop his wandering hands.

Red just _tsks_ again like it’s a bother, but he half-heartedly wriggles to get free, delightful friction making the spark reappear in Sans’ eyes. Sans’ grip tightens around his wrists and Red can’t help the way heat sinks down to the base of his spine, lighting him up with the promise of an unrestrained Sans in bed.

Fuck, that’s hot.

Still, because Red’s Red, he has to make Sans work for it. What he does is test Sans’ grip, enough that Sans loosens his hold a little until a challenge appears in Red’s eyes. He sucks in a stuttered breath when Red grinds his hips up again, especially when he detects the vague smell of ozone before it touches his tongue, sharp and clear. Sans’ mouth automatically waters even as his face burns with the memory of the taste.

Red can’t help but give him a cheeky grin. Sans remembers what he did well enough to merit a response. “Yeah.”

Sans’ breath sighs out, long and hot. “Wasn’t expecting you to admit it,” he mutters, feigning self-satisfaction behind it all. He leans forward to put more weight onto Red’s wrists, and Red lets him. It shouldn’t do it for him, but there’s an interested little motive inside of Sans that likes it when Red folds like a hand of cards, something so rich and desirable as Red writhing beneath him and begging-

From what he can tell, Red’s trying to sway the control in his favour by producing something he’d been assured was one time. Sans’ eye lights slide to the side as though to gauge the distance, the magic in the air thick and heavy. He’s suddenly very aware of how vulnerable he is by pinning Red down. It leaves him exposed to the blind spot directly behind him, where Red’s magic shifts and pulsates to intimidate him.

He shudders out a breath, and although inaudible, it catches Red’s attention. His grin is lascivious, nothing secret nor suggestive hidden in Red’s expression. It only broadens, twitching invitingly as Sans feels the tip of something long, heated and slick slink into his pant leg. His soul suddenly jumpstarts like a jackhammer, trepidation and excitement welling up all at once. It’s like his body just _knows._ Sans’ face must betray him despite his efforts to stifle his reaction, as Red looks smug like the cat who got the cream.

Red watches as Sans’ expression tightens, clearly wanting, clearly frustrated as all the memories click into place. His breath catches and Red echoes it, his soul reacting in time to Sans’.

He makes an enquiring noise low in his throat, encouraging Sans to make up his mind as he watches Sans search the middle distance between their bodies. The tentacles only idle, shifting silently except when they move against each other, the soft squelch within Sans’ shorts making his face burn hot.

Then he does something unprecedented. “One time only,” Sans suddenly stammers out, and his haste to say ‘no’ catches Red a little off guard. While he knows Sans is receptive to damn near anything, he wasn’t expecting it.

He’s ok with it, but he’s slow to remove his magic from Sans’ shorts. It’s hesitant, as it knows that’s where it belongs. He can feel the heat of Sans’ own magic, yearning to form, leaning down to push their pelves together to grind, hot and dirty. Red shifts beneath him, his soul pounding just as much as he can feel Sans’ is.

Even though he can practically taste how much Sans wants it, Red relents. The ends of the tentacles slip out of hiding, moving to bracket where Sans has got him straddled. “Arright. What d’you got planned, sweetheart? Want me to put `em away?”

It takes a moment for Sans to consider it. In fact, it takes several moments, like he’s attempting to recalibrate an assortment of directions and measurements but he’s lacking the brainpower. Sans doesn’t think well when he’s horny. It doesn’t mean Red isn’t pleasantly caught off guard when he surprises him, forcing his wrists down once more.

“Nah,” Sans breathes, his voice husky and soft between them like he’s saving his words for Red alone. He pushes Red down, an ache building up in Sans’ back when he settles in to capture Red’s mouth again, soft and sweet. Red can feel it in his chest, the hot wash of shame and delight creep along his spine to build up in his pelvis. When they part, Sans’ eyes are hazy and soft enough that it does things to Red’s soul, especially with the way Sans lingers close. “Keep `em ready.”

Red’s technically confused, but he manages not to show it. Sans shoots him a grin of his own, a telltale flush colouring his cheekbones when he situates himself so he can read every microexpression. He delivers his desires, fluttering throughout Red’s body like a gentle torrent, something that lights him from his core to every fibre of his being.

“Why don’t you amuse yourself, mm?” Sans sighs as he starts a slow grind down against the base of the tentacles. He doesn’t look away from Red’s face as his expression tenses with the added pleasure. Sans feels Red test the restraints, though he doesn’t know if it’s because Red’s nervous or if he wasn’t expecting that. “I think it’d be interesting, don’t you, babe?”

There’s no one else in the world. Red marvels at the revelation that he’s just had: the one where Sans literally told him to go fuck himself. His laugh catches in his throat, optimistically into it despite _probably_ never considering it. There’s blazing interest in Sans’ eyes that can’t be quelled and it’s the only thing Red’s got to go on. Sans is serious.

Holy shit. Sans _wants_ this.

He’s never been able to tell Sans ‘no’. Not really, not with this kind of thing. A knot starts to form in his throat as Red carefully studies his counterpart, who’s still moving with lustful purpose against his pelvis and tentacles. He’s got a bit of an exhibitionist streak. He wonders if Sans just plans to watch, or will he touch himself as Red fucks himself…?

The knot in his throat tightens a bit more and Red tries desperately not to clear it with a cough.

Sans gives him a knowing grin and Red knows he’s hesitated for a beat too long. He laughs despite himself and concentrates on Sans’ hips, moving in slow, rolling, tantalising thrusts.

“Wow,” he can’t help but snicker, his soul doing funny flutters again as Sans’ intentions come to light. “So dirty.”

Sans scoffs despite himself, genuinely tickled by Red’s response. “Really?? _This_ is your hard no? Wow. Colour me surprised.”

There’s no mockery behind it, at least, there’s no _venom,_ but the idea of it is rationalised between the span of a few breaths. Red determines with frightening swiftness that it’s probably no worse than fingering himself. It nonetheless is something so filthy that he’s surprised that _Sans_ of all people was the first to come up with it. Hell, he’s surprised _he_ hadn’t thought of it first.

Red brings up a tentacle between them, excitement making his soul beat faster. His magic pulses brightly as he eyes the appendage with an air of smugness that rivals business tycoons. Sans’ gaze drops to it and for a moment, he’s captivated. Red can see the peek of blue magic behind his teeth and suddenly _aches,_ longing for Sans’ mouth on him.

“Arright,” he agrees after a long moment of suspense. He sees the tension in Sans’ back ease a little, replaced by excitement. “Gonna need you to slick me up first, sweetheart.”

Sans smirks despite how much he wants Red’s magic in his mouth. The dusting of colour is still bright on his cheekbones, and he gusts out a soft laugh when he spots the look on Red’s face just as he gives the tapered end a soft kiss. Red shudders out a breath with the lingering touch, the tentacle glistening and warm as he directs it closer to Sans’ mouth.

He groans from the bottom of his soul when he’s treated to a front-row seat of Sans’ oral fixation. His tongue curls against its tip, wetting the gentle taper, testing the small beaded texture down its side.

Red sighs out long and hard as Sans treats him, resisting the urge to just fuck with Sans and his mouth equally. He can feel the small blossom of pleasure ache as though from far away, but Red’s face burns when Sans lets go of one of his wrists to take him in hand.

Sans’ hands look small in comparison to the tentacle, which weeps and glistens like precome. Red groans low in his throat, feeling the way Sans’ tongue plays with the tip in his mouth, swirling and dancing with the end while Red slowly comes apart under him. He hasn’t even formed a cunt or anything, so distracted by Sans’ idea that Red’s one track mind is a little aimless.

But his soul throbs, sending more magic down. Good thing he has such high reserves, Red thinks in a haze. Sans’ moan is stifled from around his tentacle and Red feels the heady throb, wet gasps escaping him.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, only to lift his hips as though to encourage Sans to take more of him inside. He could lose himself in Sans’ mouth and not ever want to be found. “God, like that-”

His pleas are met with the broad face of Sans’ tongue, firmly lapping at the underside of the tentacle. The others twitch, lengths curling in languid, sensual stretches like they want their share of attention. Red groans when Sans pulls him closer and his voice locks on a noise so pornographic it makes Sans’ face flood with colour. It’s like it’s concentrated all at once, tingling down the length, making Red’s femurs tremble as he presses more into Sans’ mouth.

Sans unfortunately has a mean streak to him sometimes, and today is one of those days. He pulls off Red’s tentacle _(his dick),_ the heat of his mouth a lingering memory that Red wants to revisit for as long as he lives. The soft pop when his magic leaves Sans’ mouth sends a jolt throughout Red’s body and the magic continues to build within his pelvis. The noise that leaves Red is just as filthy.

He doesn’t even know why he’s made more than one tentacle. Probably to show off, yeah, or perhaps it’s just to show off for _Sans,_ even if only a little bit. Red lifts his hips to meet with the way Sans rocks against the nest of tentacles curled up from where they’re conjured. 

“You reacted a bit more to that than before,” Sans observes a little breathily, looking very pleased with himself.

Red shoots him a grin. “Practise makes perfect?” He can’t help but crack a laugh when Sans rolls his eyes, amused nonetheless. “Y’gonna hold me down some more? Make me take it?” The brightness returns to Red’s eyes as he outright dares Sans, his breaths still huffy and uneven. “What d’you got planned, hm?”

Sans leans over him again, pausing his ministrations as his free hand finds Red’s wrist. He leans down again, pinning him in place, his expression calculating between heavy breaths. Then he tilts his head a fraction of an inch, daring Red to spew yet more dirty talk.

“What I got planned,” he murmurs, and Red feels Sans’ words sink into his ready body like gravity, “is for you to lie back and take what I tell you to.”

Red’s breath catches, interest bright in his eyes. His mouth quirks in a grin. “Wow, mister, that’s mighty kind of ya.” To say the least, Red likes it a bit too much when Sans gets bossy.

Sans smirks regardless, knowing the way Red speaks is as though to derail him. He idly traces his thumb over the wrists pinned in his grasp, still moving slow and sensually against Red’s pelvis. The heat that throbs at his pubic symphysis is a little distracting, but he wants to see how far he can push Red. His body tells Sans that he’s up for damn near anything, and Sans’ insinuation that he fuck himself with his own tentacles has made Red’s breathing hitch with every gasp.

It’s downright beautiful.

“Actually,” Sans adds as an afterthought. Red draws in a long and deep breath during the deliberate pause, and he hates how the suspense makes his body tingle with anticipation. He can feel that same knot of tightness in his throat, nerves and excitement battling for dominion. He shudders out his breath, tasting the want radiating from Sans in waves.

And there’s something in Sans’ expression that he can’t quite read, which is horrifying for a judge. Red’s anticipation bleeds into uncertainty the more he searches it, but then it’s gone. Either he doesn’t know what it means, or Red’s spent so long recoiling from that emotion that he doesn’t want to put a name to it. It’s like blood in the water, but instead of going in for the kill, he has a sudden and feral need to grab and protect it so no one else can have it.

His soul twists a little with the bittersweet pain Red feels. He loses focus and snaps back to Sans staring at him, clearly concerned. Then it disappears again.

_No feelings allowed._

Red rolls his eyes, clearly frustrated. Instead of lashing out like he normally would, he draws in a soothing breath and exhales, long and shallow. It’s not like him to check out of a conversation like that, but then again, that look Sans had…

He really didn’t want to grace it with a description.

_Warm, fond, soft._

He said _not_ to, damn it.

Sans hesitates. Maybe it’s for that reason that he offers Red an out, since he reads that he’s uncomfortable, or at least uncomfortable that something else is going on. Sans murmurs, carefully loosening his hold on Red’s wrists; “I mean, if you’re not into it…”

“Mm?” Red mumbles. He plays it off like Sans just woke him from a really good nap. “What’s that? Your dramatic pause was so long I thought I’d catch a few z’s.” Bingo. No feelings here, only orgasms. Or at least, impending ones if Sans doesn’t get butthurt.

Luckily, Sans doesn’t. He’s suspicious but he plays along, mostly because it’s easier to just let Red be an asshole than to argue about his virtues one way or another. His smirk is a little crooked and his eyes avert, like Sans is shy or something.

Red makes sure to pay attention to the words as well as the body language this time, even though his soul threatens to swallow him whole. His throat tries its best too, which is why Red feels like he’s on the verge of yelling himself hoarse.

“Self care,” Sans shrugs innocently. Red very clearly understands that there’s something more to it. His expression tightens with scrutiny, hackles prickling as his counterpart still, despite it all, hovers over his body like a warm blanket.

“Uh huh.” Red’s tone has lost its interest. He’s not getting a lot of signals, but what he gets is mostly shame and something cagey. Damn, he really should’ve paid attention instead of thinking about how much Sans’ body complements his own. He tries to quell the way heat rises to his face when Sans seats himself over Red’s pelvis, a steady weight over his junk. Red suddenly remembers that Sans is responsible for a great deal many of his orgasms and the tension eases when Sans glides his hands down his chest. “Wanna repeat that?”

Sans’ face remains flushed. “Not really.”

Red scoffs. “Honestly, I know y’say you’re not a kinky bastard, but the way you deflated just now makes me think you tried askin’ something really interesting.”

“O light of my life, I swear that wasn’t it,” Sans grouses, still unable to make eye contact. Red’s eyes narrow challengingly and Sans’ grin twitches a little; it’s obvious that he sees it. Red relaxes despite it all. “I just thought, y’know… it’d be good to see you really enjoy yourself.”

Red’s soul does a spinning kick and lurch, or at least it feels like it. His temper flares for a moment before he quickly curbs it, his expression quietly neutralised before it can betray him.

“I always do,” he says, unable to coax the tightness from his voice.

Sans’ grin gets a little cheeky, which relaxes Red more than anything else could. “Yeah…” he says with more fondness than he means to, but he’s not looking directly at Red, so it’s fine. He’s only pinning him down with his ass while Red expends idiotic amounts of magic to keep his tentacles summoned, as he’s still hopeful. “Maybe it’s weird I wanna see you treated good when you-” He drops it when he takes a quick glance to Red.

Red, whose grin drops when he realises what that means. His throat is eager to choke him out, which is just as well since if it’s what Sans wants, nothing like his usual means is going to be what gets him off. He tilts his head, thinking about gentler ways he’s starting to show intimacy (affection), and suddenly Red feels a little cornered. It’s not enough to scare him away, as it’s been creeping up on the both of them over the course of months, years…

But still. It’s something else to infer it’s something Sans wants. That Red will allow to happen. He decides to twist it a little bit, to really rile Sans up.

“Oh, I gotcha, sweetheart,” Red murmurs, playing into Sans’ sentimentalities so smoothly it’s like the moment of emotional constipation never happened. He reaches down with his glistening tentacle, the one Sans worked over, and gingerly wraps it around Sans’ left wrist. He sees the flare of want flood Sans’ face and grins to himself as he pulls him forward. Red’s gentle, imitating the way Sans expects--no, _wants_ him to be.

Then he guides it up to his right hand, pushing their hands together so Sans gets the idea. The gerbil on the wheel in Sans’ head must be tired, since it takes a moment for his counterpart to register just what’s happening. As Sans tries and fails to figure it out, Red smirks to himself.

“I gotcha,” he repeats, his voice a little throaty. “You wanna hold me down? Make me take it as I fuck myself raw? Or you wanna tell me how to do it, help to fuck my tight pussy `til I scream? Or-” Here, Red’s voice shudders out, like he’s hoping for and against it all at once. Sans’ gaze focuses on him, on every little betrayal of body language that slithers down his spine. “-Y’wanna make me be gentle… fuck me good, take it deep, rub my clit as I take my own dick?”

Sans’ breathing comes out hard, his back tense like he feels it burning between his legs. Dirty talk does it for him despite how much he protests, but there’s not even a whisper of complaint now - only damning silence. Red sends him a cheeky grin, gliding the tip of the tentacle as he feels Sans’ legs tighten fractionally against his hips. It’s warm, the very thought of it making Red’s soul pound with anticipation. A little speedbump never hurt their chances of fucking today. He came out on top.

He’s gonna call it a win.

His grin quirks a little more as he shifts below Sans’ quivering body, pushing the formless magic at Sans’ pubic symphysis just to hear him stifle a groan. The way Sans lights up does all kinds of things to Red’s libido, which is 100-percent on board with this idea, no matter how much it makes him shake. Red swallows carefully, sending Sans another one of his lascivious grins. He’s game. It’s just all up to Sans to get started now.

Though belatedly, Sans nods in agreement and leaves Red’s other wrist unguarded. Instead, he makes a show of licking his fingers, getting them all nice and wet with that pretty tongue of his. Red can practically feel it on his magic as his tentacles slowly squirm, his breaths deepening and his soul throbbing with a steady ache.

There’s no conscious thought to form a cunt, though at some point Red supposes he’d already made the effort and will to. When Sans scoots back a little to adjust their positions, his thighs are hooked on either side of Sans’ hips, splaying him open, wet and ready.

Of course, since Sans prefers to draw things out, he pushes his wet fingers inside of Red, slow and sweet enough to ache. Red briefly closes his eyes against the stretch, his breath catching when Sans pivots his reach to probe further in. Two fingers ease to three as Sans pushes in deeper and Red helpfully lifts his hips to accept more of him.

It unfortunately causes Sans to withdraw with a soft tut. “Ah-ah.” It’s almost a chastisement, and Red grins against it, his eyes still closed.

“What, I can’t even help?” he murmurs, surprisingly pliant when Sans’ fingers glide over bone to his clit. He shivers out a breath despite his attempts to hold back. “Pinch for a penny?”

Sans snerks but doesn’t indulge Red’s request, rolling the bead of magic against the full length of his thumb. It makes Red tense a little, familiar pleasure on the same tracks where pain normally would be. It causes Red to float along for a moment, clinging to the feeling until Sans pushes his hand up again.

Red opens his eyes just in time to see Sans make to grab for the nearest tentacle. Red’s legs quiver, his empty cunt clenching on nothing while his soul does nervous little tremors in his chest. He isn’t sure how this’ll work, namely how the sensations will play out. Especially with Sans leading, Red’s more than a little sure that he’ll be ruined one way or another.

It doesn’t stop his soul from trembling with anticipation, more so when he reopens his eyes to watch what Sans is doing. Red inhales sharply with how close Sans’ mouth is to his pussy, a peek of blue inching past his teeth. He never knows why, but Sans is able to unravel him in the best of ways when it comes to eating him out.

He takes his time, like Red’ll leave the first chance he gets if he stops. Sans focuses on his clit when he goes down on Red, drawing it into his mouth and gliding his tongue around in varying strokes as Red shakily whispers out, “Fuck”. His body tightens on the pleasure, keenly aware of the fact that Sans isn’t bothering with his entrance anymore. It’s like he means to get him off by that alone, coaxing wetness from Red the more he toys with him.

Sans keeps the tentacle in hand, arrested as it squirms just as much as Red does. Red distinctly feels the way Sans glides his thumb over the tip of it, sudden pleasure coming in strong bursts. The force it grounds him with is oppressive as much as it is tantalising, and Red can’t focus on dualities at the same time. 

Sans knows this. He knows how badly Red’s played himself, agreeing to Sans’ whims. But it’s Sans. He can’t say no; never could. Red doesn’t bother holding back his groans of appreciation, knowing his ovations make Sans shudder like eloquent praise. Red tests his luck by reaching down to cup the crown of Sans’ head with his free hand, only to be punished when Sans leans back to stop.

“Don’t touch,” he says, and Red trembles with bare restraint. He was so close, just _really_ needed to hold onto Sans. Red swallows thickly on some small noise of protest, letting his head fall back against the mattress and his free hand clutches at the sheet under him. Sans appears to be content to make him wait or to beg for it, as he does little else but watch him. Savouring him.

Red growls low in his throat, a touch of a smirk at his teeth. Then he murmurs with no small amount of amusement, sounding too breathy, “God, you’re such a bastard.”

Sans hums, also amused. Then he decides to lick into Red’s pussy, lapping up the slick right up to his clit. Red’s body tightens down on the sensation when Sans switches again, unbearably impatient to come undone yet given no relief.

Red’s voice cracks on a sob. He doesn’t mean to, but the aching way his tentacle’s being stroked and the relentless way Sans toys with his clit is bringing him dangerously close. The other tentacles slither closer towards his body, aimless but ready. Red’s tempted to start himself, but he’s waiting for a cue from Sans.

He can feel Sans’ hot breaths on his pussy, how ragged and pleased he is by slowly wrecking him. It wouldn’t be the first time, but Red’s starting to shake. His legs tremble, barely bracketing Sans’ head as he sucks on his clit, drawing it into his mouth again to make Red shout. It just slips out, not like Red’s normally one to hold back his appreciation.

The thing is, Red knows when Sans is genuinely irritated and when he’s playing. Sans leans up and Red just _groans,_ still edged beyond belief. He quivers as his counterpart crawls over his naked body, tentacle in hand, still rubbing the tip, still _teasing_ him.

Red’s never ashamed, but there’s an intensity in Sans’ eyes that speaks volumes of what he intends to do. Sans straddles his midsection, his eyes hooded and face flushed, the smear of Red’s magic on his teeth and chin. Red has the overpowering urge to notch his hand onto Sans’ hip again, to pull him close enough to grind. He craves their bodies interlocking together, like two horribly snarky jigsaw pieces.

What he does instead is sends Sans a sharp grin, his face burning hotly when he feels and watches Sans stroke at his tentacle. He makes a show of it, his gaze never wavering even as Red groans again, the pleasure rising. He squirms under Sans, hopeless under his touch, helpless to anything he gives him.

And it turns out Red’ll accept anything from Sans, even if he doesn’t initially think so. Even as Sans works, Red’s legs quiver, his feet sliding up the soft sheets of the bed. He can’t help the way he squirms, everything building, tension rising as Red’s breathing starts to come in harsher gasps. Predictably, he swears, the liberal dirty talk starting as his brain finally succumbs to the persistent pleasure.

It’s a lot all at once. Sans is right; he’s more sensitive now, though why, Red doesn’t have the brain capacity to think about it right now. Probably has something to do with less tentacles this time around and he’s not really trying to show off. The thoughts go up with the strangled off noise Red makes when he cums, shuddering down his body in a way that makes Sans moan above him.

Red’s still trembling a little when his brain flickers back on like an old light bulb. He blinks up at Sans, who gives him the toothiest grin he can muster, bringing the sensitive tentacle to his mouth. Red feels another slow throb of warmth blossom towards the tip when Sans kisses it again, damn near nuzzling it as Red makes a half-hearted attempt to get up. Belatedly, he realises that he’s still being held down.

Sans grins against the appendage, watching Red as he licks it down from the end and up several inches. Red’s body fills with tension and he can’t help the little kick his leg does when Sans looks at him that way.

 _“Fuck,”_ he nearly whimpers out. His cunt clenches on nothingness, the heat more like a searing brand under Sans’ gaze. Red can’t hide, can’t cover up how raw it makes him feel. He feels betrayed by his own goddamn voice and body. _“Fuck!”_ he says again, louder and a little more frantic as he grips the sheets tight in his fist.

“Easy, easy,” Sans murmurs, and the way it’s delivered sends a shockwave throughout Red’s system. When he touches him, Red feels shaky and ungrounded, like it’s not enough to keep him together. Red’s breath catches in his throat, half in protest, half begging. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

It’s sweet, almost to the point where it’s uncomfortable. Red’s breath stutters out as Sans caresses his body, lithe digits gliding up his scarred bones, tracing over ribs and up to his throat. He doesn’t put a name to the action, instead knowing how much he’s into it makes Red feel a little lost.

Maybe if he pretends that it’s a kink of his, he’ll be more willing to relax. It’s something he can indulge in on a whim, not out of habit. It doesn’t make him weak.

Sans is a warm weight above him, one that squirms just as much as Red does. His eyes are heavily lidded, his breaths deep and long. He’s a perfect picture of attraction, which makes Red chuckle a bit, deliriously aware how narcissistic that makes him. He can tell by the way Sans relaxes atop of him that his laugh puts him at ease, and the delightful friction starts up again. It doesn’t make Red any less vocal, which gives Sans satisfaction.

He’s keenly aware of Sans’ hold on the tentacle, the one that’s been sensitive and responsive this whole time. Even as Red’s watching him, Sans seems to hesitate. Wow, and here he was all nerves of steel and reckless bravado. Red knew he’d deflate somewhere along the way.

It doesn’t help they share an oral fixation that’d put a lollipop business to shame. As much as Sans can blow a lazy afternoon away, Red’s clearly the same. Those universal constants are sure hilarious. As much as Red wants to dwell on that, he sees the barely bridled lust in Sans’ eyes even as he moves forward and leans down.

Tentacle out of sight, all Red can taste is himself on Sans’ tongue, wriggling slowly, sensually testing his patience. He makes a small noise into Sans’ mouth, still resistant on touching him but craving some kind of tether to the world before he drifts away. The kiss is sweet, heady, something that coaxes another groan of want out of Red before Sans pulls away like sweet taffy. He doesn’t know how he does it, as Sans looks just about as wrecked as Red does.

The two remaining tentacles are idle by his hips, warm and slick with precum despite having been ignored. As Sans kisses him, Red can feel Sans’ free hand delve between them, moving back to give ample space. Red’s right leg is hitched up, guided by Sans’ gentle hand. Red represses the urge to shudder as the bone blooms with heat where Sans touches him.

Then, slowly, just _maddeningly slow,_ Sans guides his right-most tentacle around and under his knee, taking care to manoeuvre Red like he’ll break if he’s too rough. Meanwhile, Red has to chuckle to himself, otherwise he might snap and say something truly awful. Sans gives the appendage an affectionate glide of his fingers, and Red _burns._

The tentacle tightens around his knee, pinning his femur down to the twin bones of his lower leg, but it isn’t uncomfortable. At least, Red doesn’t really think so. The curl of the tip around and between his patella is a little concerning, especially since he wasn’t consciously thinking about doing it. So that’s pretty neat.

“There we go,” Sans breathes, too much satisfaction in his tone to be ignored. A traitorous blush crawls up Red’s throat despite himself, and Sans continues. “They really do got a mind of their own, mm? A little coaxing and they pick up on intent well enough. And pretty receptive to it, too.” The sound he makes is throaty and sends a low throb to Red’s neglected pussy. Red’s face colours as Sans leans down again, resuming his position over Red’s middle. “Kinda like you want this.”

He can feel it like a pulse, a live wire fed directly into his soul. It’s a risky move and Sans probably knows it, but it plays just right that it makes Red tremble in the best of ways. He anticipates a little snark back, but Red doesn’t give him anything. It’s a glaring tell to how this is affecting him, and Sans’ grin softens.

Red wants to cover Sans’ face so he stops looking at him like that, god damn it. He pretends that he doesn’t shake when he laughs low in his throat, Red’s voice a little hoarse from how he’s been struggling to keep calm. “Wow. Filthiest thing you’ve ever said.”

Sans laughs, a soft little thing that makes Red want to keep in a jar for later. His soul feels like fireflies, lazily burning in summer months as they drift from spot to spot. It’s the most Red allows himself to touch upon, but it makes him go quiet in the meantime. Sans surveys his expression, then when he deems it alright to proceed, his grin is a little secretive.

“Says the guy who comes up with the raunchiest stuff in history,” he says, all satisfaction.

Red feels a couple of things he doesn’t want to put words to, but he mockingly blows Sans a kiss anyway. It’s a show of facetiousness, and as much as Sans and Red are judges, Sans is willing to ignore a good 40-percent of what he sees. Which is just as well, as Red knows he’s being sloppy.

Or, Sans is drinking up what slips past the veil and Red needs to get his shit together.

He huffs out low, anticipation locked in his soul when Sans considers him. Red has the sudden urge to pretend to sleep just to fuck with him, but he stays rapt, excitement burning under the surface for what Sans has got planned.

“Best keep that tongue occupied then.” Even as Sans says it, it’s wobbly and a little shy. A flush rises up from the collar of Sans’ shirt, burning particularly bright when Red quirks a brow at him. He feels Sans’ legs cinch a little more around his middle, can practically feel the magic radiating from his body. “Say, there’s an idea…”

Red’s mouth is a little dry, which is why he notices when there’s a slight well of spit under his tongue. In fact, he feels slightly scandalised, however stupid that thought is. Sans brings the length near, the heat and heaviness coiling around his arm and hand like a glistening snake. Red shudders out a breath as he looks to it, having really never considered it. It’s an entirely different thing, licking come from his fingers, having his mouth on Sans’ dick or pussy.

But his own? Hot damn, Sans is _nasty._

And incredibly hot. Red can feel the magic burn on his cheekbones as he inhales a shaky breath as though to prepare himself for it. Sans’ expression is bare, hunger and eagerness to feed Red his own tentacle naked in his eyes. His breathing goes a little funny and Red finds that his stupid that magic imitates it, matching Sans breath for breath.

“Lick it.” Sans is more confident now and it makes Red’s soul squeeze with something close to affection. His tone also sends a throb down Red’s spine, his tongue conjured and ready. He knows what Sans is doing, giving him similar requests, familiar commands that Red gave him the last time.

He anticipates some weirdness, but Red doesn’t expect the way his cunt _aches_ when he gets his first taste. There’s a dual sensitivity, stretched thin along the tentacle and a tenderness that refuses to leave between his legs. He hesitates, as that’s what Sans wants, and Red listens to Sans’ awed gasp as though Red was giving him head instead.

Red’s throat is a little tight, locked up when Sans tells him to give it another lick. He’s more deliberate this time, using the curl of his tongue to flick down the end, along the shaft, his legs barely trembling as he feels it all. A muted groan escapes him, a shockwave of want _(acceptance)_ cascading over Red when Sans praises him.

“There, like that… God, that’s so good-”

Sans’ sigh shivers out as he coaxes Red’s mouth open with the pad of his thumb. There isn’t much that he does to guide the appendage closer, like his desire is enough to command it what to do. It sends a thrill throughout Red’s body, and when Sans loosens his grip on his left hand, Red shudders until Sans laces their fingers together.

There’s no conscious thought to it at all. The tentacle weeps, a small heady taste of himself on Red’s tongue as it pushes closer to his mouth. He feels the heat of Sans’ arousal pressed against him as Sans’ breaths sharpen. It curls at the tip of his tongue, the sensation so foreign and hot that Red accepts it all at once.

Sans groans above him, shaking. This is clearly doing it for him, and the way he reacts makes Red watch him with hooded, lustful eyes. Unconsciously, Red squeezes at Sans’ hand, the only point of grounding on the bed where he clutches at the sheets.

The vibrations of his next moan are like fucking heaven, so much that Red’s back arches in visceral pleasure. A tear pricks the corner of his eye as the end slithers against his tongue, pushing in when Red thinks he can handle more of it. It doesn’t feel like he’s in full control of his magic, but as long as Sans is there, he’s fine with that. Sans can handle a surprising amount.

The thought of Sans in complete control of him makes Red clench again, his mouth becoming fuller the more the tentacle explores further into his mouth. He groans again, the tingle of pleasure warming his marrow, his thoughts lost to the feel of his tongue, his hot and heady mouth on his magic. His tongue maps out the tiny bumps textured into the tentacle and the intimacy of it makes Red’s face burn.

Sans’ breaths come in heavier as he fucks his own mouth and Red can feel the frantic way Sans attempts to restrain his urge to grind against him. Even with his mouth full, Red tries to convey that, hey, it’s alright, he’s totally ok with Sans doing that, but his counterpart holds onto his hand like it’s the only thing keeping himself at bay. Red can feel him tremble, every heavy gasp humid between them as the tentacle pushes deeper, flirting at the back of Red’s throat.

Red rolls his hips, unable to keep himself from moving any longer. His hand aches where it’s been clutching at the sheets so much that he’s sure he’s ripped them or compromised the state of the magic holding his joints in place. Sans whispers a shaky swear so quietly above him that it fuels the tentacle to go a little faster, catching Red off guard enough to muffle a choked off noise. The suddenness of it brings pips of light to Red’s eyes, hot and stinging.

“Ah,” Sans mutters throatily, and Red closes his eyes to it with a shuddering moan. “Gentle, hun.”

‘Gentle’ shouldn’t be something that turns Red on, but he’s so depraved that when the tentacle eases up, he’s unable to quell the desire that suddenly flares within him. The thrusts start up slow, a gentle glide over his tongue, carefully rocking into his willing mouth. Red can’t hold back the sounds he makes, not when he feels Sans’ gaze on him like a brand.

“There you go,” Sans breathes, all satisfaction and lust. “Good.”

There’s an idle thought about how awkward Red finds Sans’ dirty talk, but it’s drowned out by the building pleasure in his body. Red can’t stop the throaty groans that half-grunt out of him, nor does he attempt to regain control. He unconsciously squeezes Sans’ hand in his own, fingers flexing like he doesn’t want to let go.

“Bet you wanna be fucked now, don’t ya?” Sans then murmurs hotly. Red would grin if his mouth wasn’t already occupied, but _god,_ yes please, he thinks. He squirms, enough to feel the remaining tentacle to his left slither up his side, over the crest of his hip and between him and Sans. Sans hitches a breath and adjusts his position so he can take it in hand.

Sans has to be close. He’s breathing hard, gasps quick to catch as Red works himself up. Red can’t focus, and when he reopens his eyes, he can barely see through the blur of tears. The expression that must be on his face has to be something else, as Sans clearly hesitates. Whatever it is, Red attempts to hide it, unlocks his fingers from the sheet to fling over his eyes. His face feels hot when Sans carefully eases his arm back to the bed, and Sans gently tuts as though in mock reprimand.

It’s something else. Red helplessly nods his consent, knows it’s important. He’s waited before to make sure Sans was receptive, and clearly Sans wants him to have a good time too.

It’s just _weird._ The pleasure rises and Red thinks he can feel it spiralling upward into a singularity, only to crash down on him. Then Sans proves to be the rudest fucker in existance and jerks the tentacle from his mouth just as he hits his peak.

There’s no filter. Red’s voice comes out hot and loud, his orgasm ripping into him enough for him to twist hard in Sans’ grasp. It shudders through him like a torrent, vibrating through the body above him as Sans pins him in place. It’s the only thing that’s keeping Red from writhing off the mattress, his breaths hard and his words failing him. All he can string together is some mangled form of “What the fuck”, and it takes Red awhile to get it out thanks to the sudden influx of vowels.

He groans as his body winds down a little. Sans hums above him, a solid weight where Red feels he can just drift off. Instead, Red blinks away the tears that blur his vision and watches his counterpart, apprehensive now.

Sans looks cheeky and yet still deeply satisfied. He’s not gotten off yet - there are certain tells that Red’s learned, and he’s not quite there yet. What he does have is a spatter of Red’s cum on his face and a shiver rolls up his body when Sans flaunts it.

“Got your mark,” is all Sans says, and Red’s feral possessivity flares up like an old wound. Red hisses out something meaningless, his breaths still hard and burning as he recuperates.

Sans hangs above him, a steady anchor despite how needy he feels. He hasn’t allowed his magic to form anything, but it’s so hot and dense at his pubic symphysis that it might as well be summoned. He likes the way Red twitches under him, as it makes his body flood with pleasure just the same as though Red was doing it to him.

It gives Sans satisfaction to see Red fall apart under his touch, every stroke gentle, gliding, caressing. He knows Red craves affection, had practically starved himself from it, and now he comes to Sans, absolutely ravenous and parched at the same time.

So Sans gives it to him, bite by bite, scrap of morsel by savoury morsel until Red shakes undone. Red still needs some point of grounding. He tends to thrash and lash out, so Sans pins him down with at least one hand, to keep Red’s world from spinning like a charged magnet. Red’s eyes are hazy by the end of his first orgasm, and the unbridled hesitation when Sans urged him to suck himself off made heat flare up in Sans’ pelvis.

He didn’t expect it to go this far. Perhaps that’s why he ended it the way he did, pulling Red’s tentacle from his mouth before he came down his throat. He checks in on Red now, still winding down, giving his counterpart a break before he continues.

He knows how much Red craves praise, retaliating with subtle quakes and shivers just as much as Sans does in bed. Red had always denied that bit to himself, so whenever Sans decides to use it against him, Red is effectively rendered speechless.

“Y’getting tired, hun?” Sans says, soft and sweet. It does something to Red, as the body beneath him shivers again, all restrained want. “Wanna tap out?” Red gives a shake of his head, bless him. He’s always up for more. Sans can’t help but smile at that. “You deserve so many good things… and I’m here to give them to you. No strings attached.”

Red makes a noise low in his throat, bitten off and barely contained. He’s not looking at Sans - not directly, at least. He does start to tremble, though.

“Make it slow,” Sans says even as he exhales, and he slips his hand down to cup Red’s pussy. Red’s eyes brighten when two fingers effortlessly sink into him, and Sans can feel the minute way Red flutters around him. “Take it sweet.”

“Fuck,” the word drops out of Red’s mouth unhindered. It seems to be his favourite word today.

“And you’ll be lovely,” Sans continues, his breath hot as he adjusts their positions. It takes all his restraint not to form a cock and push into Red himself, but _no,_ this is about the long game of it. He urges the tentacle forward, intending to show Red a good time, everything he’s wanted and everything Red yearns for himself. It goes beyond making sure he wrecks Red. He needs to make sure Red knows it’s ok to love himself. “I promise you.”

Perhaps ‘promise’ was too strong of a word, but _oh,_ how Red lights up when it passes Sans’ teeth. Sans drinks in the sight of him, crimson magic burning brightly between his bones, sweat beading on his body, Red’s chest heaving as he gasps out meaningless words. There’s been barely anything at all, and Red’s so utterly taken.

It’s easy to guide the tentacles. They aim to please (heh), and Sans wants to treat them as well as Red is. He gives one another soft kiss, hearing Red’s wounded _“Oh,”_ like it’s all that stands between them and the end of the world.

Sans gently hushes him, soothing the fingers in his hand with gentle feather-light touches. With his free hand, Sans glides his palm down the length of Red’s thigh from his pussy, relishing in the way he lifts his hips, invitingly, _begging_ even though Red doesn’t say a word. He just makes another needy noise low in his throat like he expects Sans to toy with him.

Perhaps he’s scared, known gentleness only for weakness. Maybe he’s thinking he can only get off on it on a slight. Or, if Sans feels particularly kind about it, only with _him._ Sans doesn’t entertain that thought too heavily, but it rests on his mind like something both savoury and sweet.

The tentacle around Red’s leg tightens by a bare fraction, ready and patient. The other can keep Red’s other hand occupied, as Sans wants a front row seat for what’s about to happen next. He holds onto the leg that isn’t held by the second tentacle, sidles up to Red’s pelvis and looks down to Red’s face.

He looks so vulnerable that Sans immediately has a string of fondness and something else for him. He’s quick to bury it in case it’s not what Red wants to see, or even if it’s something Sans doesn’t want to acknowledge. He’s already skirting close to sincerity when he calls Red ‘hun’ or ‘babe’ so much it makes his soul ache.

Still, he checks in, since he wants to make sure there’s a green light before he just blunders forward. “You ok, dove?”

Slowly, Red rolls his head to the side and blinks, some clarity returning to his eyes, though not much. He huffs a breath, his words slurring together when he retorts, “Dove?”

“It’s a bird,” Sans says helpfully. “Specifically, a rock pigeon.”

Apparently, Red can’t help but laugh at that.

Sans grins, more warmth blossoming inside of him the longer he hears Red’s tired chuckles. “On account of the squawking, of course.”

“Of course,” Red mutters, sounding fond himself. “If I’m the pigeon, that must make you the old crackpot maniac on the roof that feeds me.”

Sans’ grin doesn’t waver, but he knows what it means for Red to acknowledge the whole food thing. His voice catches in his throat, his grin a little doofy. He tries to hide it. He fails.

Red awkwardly looks away from the emotions on Sans’ face, a flush touching his cheekbones for another reason. “Yeah, m’alright… ya idiot.”

“Love you too,” Sans replies automatically as a snipe, though there’s no real heat behind it. He sees Red swallow whatever retort he’s got in reserve, covertly glancing at him as though Sans doesn’t see it for what it is. Calculating, like he’s wondering if Sans is serious under all the layers of Sans-centric bullshit.

There’s a weighty silence before Sans just drops it. It’s easier that way. It’ll be fun to try and explain that away with bullshit rhetoric later. Instead, Sans gives Red a grin that feels so crooked he might as well be wearing a pair of Mister Potato Head lips instead. Ok, that gives him his proper grin back, and Red seems to read it for something else.

“Funny joke,” he mumbles, sighing and relaxing back onto the mattress. “Were you just checkin’ in on `lil ol’ me?”

Sans gives him an eye roll anyway, because he’s gotta keep up with the game. Red’s proving receptive enough to get back into it, but there’s still a rod of tension in his spine.

Curiously, Sans asks, carefully moving his slickened fingers up Red’s thigh again. “You good to go?”

“Meh,” Red replies, unphased. “Three minutes won’t kill me,” he adds with a wink.

Sans grins despite himself and pulls Red’s pelvis closer to his lap, which his body thinks is a green light to shoot ready magic down to form something. He reins it in at the last minute with a hot gasp, and Red makes an interested little noise like he just caught Sans hiding birthday presents or something.

It takes a bit for Sans to find a familiar groove again, thanks to the whole ‘feelings’ hiccough. He rocks his knuckles against Red’s clit, curling his fingers inwards between Red’s folds. The tentacle has been patient - or at least dormant. Sans isn’t quite sure how it works, since he doesn’t have the capability to make anything on a whim. The best he can do is withhold himself and even then, that’s difficult.

Especially when Red looks like this, spine arched and his eyes downcast to watch what Sans is doing.

He anticipates it. Sans can tell. There’s a sweet hum at the edge of Red’s faint growl, like he hates what he wants and he wants and craves what he’s been denying himself for most of his life. His body quivers when Sans opens him up, easy with how wet he is. Red doesn’t hold back the soft croon that slips past his teeth when Sans sighs with satisfaction. Sans can feel the way his hand flexes on his own, a small tattoo of the magic holding each of them together, singing as one.

Red’s greedy for pleasure, which is why he drinks up Sans’ attention like a man left stranded in the desert just finding an oasis. His body yearns to him, aching on the edge of stimulation. His breaths burn and there’s a kink developing in his spine, but Red doesn’t care.

So when the words slip past his defenses, Red pretends Sans is the one who spoke them. “Treat me good.”

Sans sighs out again, his soul throbbing with how much he can taste how close Red is. His fingertips graze over Red’s g-spot, giving it an affectionate stroke as Red tightens down on his fingers. Then he slides them out, ready for what’s next.

In fact, he’s not really sure if he’s ready. Sans takes the remaining tentacle, which manages to look downright jubilant when his fingers encircle it. The tip wraps around his digits, lithe, deft and practised. He tries to swallow against the knot in his throat when he guides his hand down, tangled in slippery, writhing tentacle.

Red’s breath sharpens by bare degrees, finally worked up enough to Sans’ standards that he’s pretty sure he can take any size by now. He’s acutely aware of the way Sans flits his fingers along the side of his tentacle, and it manages to give Red a case of the nerves.

Which is stupid, but a lot about this is weird. His body isn’t complaining, especially not when Sans introduces the tentacle between his folds, a murmured purr to his hushed voice like he’s speaking directly to Red’s soul.

“There you go. Just like that, nice and slow-”

Red tilts his head back, two very distinct feelings happening at once. One; the praise is enough to make him think that Sans is a secret savant, and two; the dual sensations of the insertion in both his cunt and his tentacle _(dick)_ are enough to make him inhale with an abruptness that makes his nonexistent lungs burn.

He doesn’t want to miss a thing, so Red tilts his head up, his face flushed and his mouth hanging open with every gasp. He’s so wound up that he doesn’t know how Sans expects him to last. He’s going to give it a shot though, because _damn._

He makes the mistake of meeting Sans’ gaze, and it’s like another brand. Red groans to himself, for once holding it back, and he can still see Sans’ grin even when he closes his eyes. His hips twitch, lifting by a fraction as he wants more girth, _more,_ just to be filled entirely.

He wants it to ache, but Sans is the one in control. Sans, who’s coaxing the tentacle forward by bare inches, enough to fill Red bit by bit. Red can practically feel his magic burn in protest when Sans speaks again in his low and sensual way.

“Just shallowly… that’s it. Just rock it in, don’t force your way. We’re gonna take our time.”

The tentacle does as what’s suggested to it, unbidden by Red’s magic. That’s the thing with Intent-based magic, and Red feels like a goddamn fool for leaving himself so vulnerable. He trembles as the tip of the length curls inside of him, brushing against something that lights him up. Red chokes on the way he clenches around himself, small telltale flutters that make his tentacle ache. He can’t believe he’s this close already.

He whispers something, but the words slur together nonsensically. He doesn’t have much of a view, not like when Sans was giving him the best blowjob of his life. He can see the barrier of his magic encased within his pelvis, always loved to see it when Sans fucks him. But this time, it’s weird to see how the tip of the tentacle is hidden, his magic more opaque than translucent.

It makes every movement a surprise, something Red anticipates with shaky breaths. Just as he’d wriggled within Sans, the length inside of him is slow, methodical. He wants to touch Sans as much as he loves to be held down, so Red tests the restraints around his leg and right hand, which don’t let up. Damn slippery appendages. All he can feel is Sans’ right hand in his left, and the way Sans’ free hand strokes in gentle back and forth motions as the tentacle feeds into his aching pussy.

It’s thicker as it goes in. Red feels a subtle stretch deep inside of him and he gapes helplessly, his femurs starting to shake. It feels good and _deep,_ pouring everything into him. Red turns his head to the side, a hot shiver rolling down his spine as the persistent pleasure continues.

Helpfully, Sans holds his left leg between his arm and side to keep him steady, and he continues to give gentle persuasions as the length works between them.

“Keep going… that’s it. Curl it in, just a little, to fit more,” here, Sans stops to swallow, and Red can practically feel his throat constrict as though Sans has his mouth on him. He knows Sans is a bit of a size queen, but Red’s a little distracted to be thinking of anything other than the distinct way he feels things double up inside, squirming ceaselessly against his g-spot.

It’s warm and steady, a beacon of his strength. He’s burning through a lot of his magic reserves, but honestly this is the best damned thing Red’s indulged in for awhile. His shudder rolls into his hips, a groan forced out of his throat when Red allows his hips to drop from where he’s been holding them. He’s too jelly-legged to hold himself up on one side, and the tentacle on his right continuously shifts and coils around his joint, pinning him in place.

The new angle makes him see stars as the tentacle gently rocks in, slickening him up with his own precum and wetness. The bed’s probably a splash zone now, but Red doesn’t have a mind to care. All he can focus on is the delirious pleasure that assaults him.

Sans’ self-satisfied chuckle ripples through him just as much as his voice does. He uses Red’s own words against him, “Don’t worry, honey, you can take it.” The grin that cracks Red’s teeth is hazy but lecherous, playing upon his sentiments with practised ease.

Red knows what Sans is doing. It doesn’t make it any less hot, not when the length inside of him moves in a way to produce a squelch to make Sans’ face flush. For a guy who enjoys his share (and more) of oral, Sans certainly gets flustered over sex noises when they get loud. Red feels like he could probably regain some control over his magic, but he doesn’t need to when his desires are met anyway, curling into him with a rougher thrust that makes a wounded noise and a squelch come from him at the same time.

Red shoots the flustered Sans a sharp grin, especially when the thrusts slow back to their gentle rocking. It doesn’t quite feel like enough, but the rougher thrust made him keyed up and humming enough to feel when Sans’ legs quiver. He’s holding Red’s pelvis closer than before so he’s almost in his lap, his breathing hard like he’s getting off plenty just by watching. Red can feel Sans’ hand move from guiding the length between him to hook onto his illium tight enough to bruise.

Red tries to focus on the pleasure building in the tentacle, but it keeps flitting back every time it grazes just past his g-spot. God, his aim is sloppy at this angle. He tries to rectify it by lifting his hips again, clenching down just as he’s thrusted into. He swears, the noise bitten-off and high when Red attempts to watch Sans through his blurry vision.

 _Take it slow,_ he’d said. _Take it sweet,_ like Red’ll allow that. But he has no control over himself, just the Intent feeding into him from Sans, who wants him to be treated right, make him feel amazing with good, gentle tenta-lovin’.

It feels like Sans is riding him, if only a little bit. The appendage slithers between them, impeded when Sans pushes forward with his body, but allowed to withdraw when Sans pulls away. There’s not a lot of room for it to move, which is what Red craves, so he murmurs, his voice broken and shivering despite himself.

“Lem.. lemme get us a b’tter angle,” Red groans, trying to lift his hips again with Sans blocking the movement. He nearly whimpers when he feels Sans’ gaze on him, heavy and as hot as he feels. Red hears the dry click as Sans swallows, considering it, then the building ache on Red’s pelvis stops, prickling where Sans’ hand was.

Sans’ breath shakes as he fumbles down between them and Red’s body clutches tight to the tentacle even as it leaves his body. His breathy “no, c’mon-” is short-lived even as Sans repositions himself over the length, glistening with Red’s slick and cum. Red makes a reedy little noise in protest, feeling far too empty for his comfort.

“Make it thicker at the tip,” Sans says, and the unbridled lust in his eyes does strange things to Red’s libido, making it flare and throb at the same time. His hand has the appendage grasped, his thumb swirling the tip with the firmness that makes Red’s legs shake.

Red gulps, unable to focus enough for Sans’ request. “Y’keep doin’ that, m’not g.. gonna last long enough.” It’s a weak protest, as his body keys up on the sensation, drinking up the attention like he’s starved for it. He gulps when Sans’ grip gets firmer, unlocking a stuttered moan from deep inside Red’s soul.

Sans eventually eases up on the tip, instead keeping it loosely encircled within his grasp. The magic falters, stutters, then broadens at his request, molten heat sinking between his legs for as much as Sans wants it inside of him. His soft hums and moans are shameless, a symphony of pleasure ringing in Red’s skull. Red’s shoulders and arms ache from being held down, tightening every time the pleasure builds.

Sans manages to awkwardly pull down his shorts, treating Red to the glorious view of brightly burning joints filled with magic, magic Sans refuses to allow form. It’s brightest at his pubic symphysis, where Red wants to lean up and lick until something comes of it. Instead, Sans guides the tentacle under his tailbone and towards the front, straddling it as it slickens the channel of his ischiums.

Sans shudders, keeping his magic at bay, but Red’s breath shivers with the sensation. The spot is hot like a brand, so much it’s like _agony_ when Sans grinds down against him. It’s already hard to see Sans’ expression when he blisses the fuck out, but Red can actually feel the tears on his face from the overwhelming sensitivity.

And he’s still empty, which is a problem for him. He’s still got barely any control over his magic, and apparently his words too, since Red shakily pleads, “Please, sweetheart… you’re killin’ me, here.”

It’s fun when Sans’ resolve crumbles at the vaguest hint of begging. Red can almost see it when he blinks the tears from his eyes. He feels warm all over, like he’s ready to start again. His soul feels like it’s wet and heavy, trickling down his spine like honey. Red’s honestly ok with this. Shame about the bed, though.

Then Sans sends him a grin, secretive and wicked all wrapped up in one oversized t-shirt. Red can feel it by its softness, probing, carefully pressing inwards. He hisses a breath when the tip of the length stretches him out, slowly filling him again. Sans is hunched over him, a hand between them like he’s guiding it in. He’s focused on Red, the bastard, so Red can’t twist his face away to hide how the slow-building eruption inside of him works its way into his head.

His next swear, his favourite one, bites out past his teeth, caught on something so he has to force it out. There’s a longer stretch, one that makes it feel as though he’s going to be broken, but the break never comes. It just _pushes,_ careful, but oh so slowly. Red twists where he lies, frantic gasps and guttural noises spilling out of him as it approaches his g-spot. It’s almost too much.

Sans waits for him to calm, blush high on his cheekbones and burning between his joints. His breathing is a bit hard, like he’s trying and failing to grind down again. Red can feel the heat of Sans’ magic, how it _throbs_ against him, eager and wet. It does things to him, possessive, selfish things that Red wants to hold Sans close for.

He doesn’t take over. He’s having a great time with Sans leading, and fuck if it isn’t hot to boot. Red eventually catches second or even third wind, though he’s still breathing hard as his vision clears. Sans brings up his free hand to lick the slick from his fingers and Red feels a traitorous twinge in his filled cunt, hot and insatiable. Again, he feels it in his dick, pulsating up its entire length as it lights him up from the inside.

On some universal plane of existence where his brain lives now, Red’s forgotten that Sans can read faces. It’s the only reason he allows himself to feel how deep things go, the way his brow arches and his mouth drops open around filthy, desperate gasps. He’s hopeful in a way that Sans will let go of one of his hands, so he can twist his numb fingers into Sans’ shirt, pull him close and have him ride him.

Seems Sans is on the same page, at least. But he doesn’t let go. Instead, his hips start to roll, gentle little thrusts that build an ache within Red. He realises with keen interest that when Sans leans back, it’s to watch him, hungrily taken with him. His soul _aches_ and when Sans sends him that cheeky little grin, Red feels those fireflies drift around again, blinking up at him in the peripheral of his vision.

“You light up so nicely,” Sans murmurs, giving an experimental, shallow thrust against the tentacle under his pubic symphysis. It nudges it forward, filling that last bit inside Red to make him see sparks. “I really like you like this…” he sighs out, and Red can’t help the shiver that snakes up his spine. “You look really, _really_ good.”

Seems that Sans enjoys pushing his buttons just as much as Red does him. Red sucks up the praise, wanting to hide all at once. He twists a little in Sans and the tentacle’s hold, his back aching. The noise he makes sounds more desperate than he’d intended and it causes Sans’ slow rhythm to stutter.

Sans reaches for his face. Red’s keenly aware of it, his cheekbones flaring with shame when he realises he wants this. His body all but trembles when Sans’ fingertips trace a soft curve over his temple, down the side of his face and around his jaw. It glides over his neck, down his collarbone, igniting a shaky shudder from Red’s mouth.

It’s easy to see between the lines that Red wants this but has been holding back. For as much as he snarks about cuddling, he craves physical affection. The caress is almost enough to undo him, creeping up on him as he watches Sans’ hand sink lower on his body.

Then Sans does something strange, turning his hand over so the palm’s facing up, like he’s waiting for Red to take it. Red has the strong urge to pull at his right arm and the tentacle keeping him in place, but the fingers curl slightly. Red stares at Sans, then blinks when he feels something deep inside of him, hidden out of view.

Reflexively, Red’s walls flutter against the feeling, until the movement Sans’ hand makes again catches his attention. His middle finger rocks up, gliding like he’s playing with his clit, all _come hither._ It happens again, and Red doesn’t know if this is more Intent-based magic or not, but he can feel the way the firm tip curls against him on the inside, pressing and nudging against his g-spot to draw out surprised vocalisations from him.

“Oh, _oh… h-holy shit-”_ Red gasps, and Sans grinds against the tentacle again just as he feels it mimic the way Sans’ finger moves. He groans from the bottom of his soul, involuntarily bucking his hips to get more of that cruelly sweet pleasure. He sucks a breath from between clenched teeth, his eyes squeezed so tightly he’s starting to see stars. Red’s quickly becoming overwhelmed. He’s not going to last long.

The thing is, he feels Sans’ arousal like a drum, magic beating its live pulse against his junk like a steady throb. He can’t help the noises that pass his teeth, wounded and dirty, focused on the way Sans’ finger _(his tentacle)_ rubs inside of him. It feels like the strength to resist bleeds out of him in all that moment, and Red shudders hard.

“Gimme,” Red pleads, raising his hips again to invite more in. “C’mon-”

Sans’ body shivers and he lowers his hand to grasp at Red’s hip. The bruise aches, causing Red to half gasp and push into Sans’ grip. His body starts to slowly rock, using the tentacle as it thrusts into Red. The added friction creates a bright pleasure that’s too close to pain, and Red _howls._

Finally, something he knows, but it’s not quite what he wants. He wants more of what Sans offers him, and Sans clearly hesitates.

“Move,” Red slurs, blind to pleasure. He keeps his eyes shut, but he’s pliable, so utterly wrecked on sensation. “Please, darlin’, keep goin’…”

So Sans does, slow and sensual, the slick of Red’s length making the way easy for them both. His magic’s hot as embers, wound up so tightly that Red’s ragged sounds make his soul pinch with barely restrained affection. As the pleasure builds, Sans adjusts his hold on Red, slings himself up to press their mouths together in a kiss. It’s slow, a little sloppy, pouring every bit of his soul into it with every slow and deep thrust. Red makes a wounded noise and clutches at where their hands are clasped as though it’ll save him.

Sans is desperate to pry away the restraining tentacle at Red’s opposing hand. He wants Red to cling to him, to gather Red up and press him to his body as he’s wrecked into oblivion. By the time Sans frees Red’s hand, his own is soaked with precum from the idle magic that bound him. As though finding movement for the very first time, Red’s right arm shakes, finally freed.

It finds Sans’ shoulder effortlessly, and Red clings to him like Sans is the only focal point in the world for him. Groans and appreciative sounds still tumble from his mouth, but the way Red trembles and cinches inwards speaks volumes about how pent up he is. Sans is close, but he slips his hand behind Red’s back, pushing him against his body.

With the position they’re in, it’s like Sans is fucking Red himself. It’s potent, drawing on every raw nerve and frustration between them so it’s completely laid out and bare. Red shouts as Sans comes, damn near squirting as the tentacle lunges forward into Red and takes what it wants. What _Red_ wants.

He swears. He swears a _lot,_ to the point where Sans is pretty sure Red’s making up words now in the throes of it. There’s pain blossoming where Red’s got his shirt in a death-grip, damn near ripping up his scapula, but Sans doesn’t care. His pubic symphysis aches, his soul leaden and slick. He shivers as his body works through the orgasm, his breaths hard and humid against Red’s shoulder.

He swears too, but it’s less eloquent than Red’s colourful melodies. It’s a simple, raw, _“Fuck”,_ like it’s going to save him from riding Red’s tentacle as it fucks him. Probably the raunchiest shit he’s ever done. He’ll wait for Red’s standing ovation later, provided he can get up after this.

When he moves a fraction of an inch to survey Red’s expression, his soul squeezes with deliberate fondness. Red’s toothy grin is a little soft around the edges, his eyes watering from overstimulation. His fingers flex into Sans’ shirt like a happy cat, and his voice is a damned trainwreck when he breathes out, all satiated and fulfilled.

“Damn, you spoil me.”

“You sound like you tried to suck off a cheese grater,” Sans mumbles, exhausted, into Red’s throat. Inside, his soul is stupid and feels elated, taking that as something it doesn’t mean. In his heart of hearts, maybe Sans thinks _‘Love you too’_ again, just for himself. Exhausted, Sans curls up against Red’s chest, keeping him down. “Did you really, uh…?”

Red’s focus is a little fuzzy, but it’s honestly just to match how his brain is. He floats along, barely registering what Sans means until he’s nudged. He makes a soft noise, somewhere between a satiated purr and a growl.

It turns out Red doesn’t need to answer Sans, as when he looks down Sans can see for himself. Tentacles generally produce a lot of cum, so when he sees the spatter of silvery liquid encased in Red’s rib cage and peeking out from between his ribs, Sans figures what had to have happened.

Red produces a low noise of full contentedness, unashamed as his body sinks from the high-tension position he’d been held in for the better part of an hour. His joints ache, he’s tired and worn out, but it’s _good._ He’s good.

Sans can’t help the grin he has when Red decides to peek at him from one eye, and chances to reach down, cup Red’s face, and give him another kiss. It’s chaste, but he feels Red physically ease with the touch.

“You were so good,” Sans murmurs, and despite Red’s shiver, he feels sharp teeth nip at him. There’s a hesitation in the air even when Red told him he was spoiled. How sated he looks and feels.

“Yeah,” Red gravelly answers, and slinks his hand down Sans’ back. It’s tender as far as it goes, urging Sans up as he kisses him right back. “You too, sweetheart.” Sans just grins, more of that delightful blush dusting his face as he brings the towel close, hoping to save some of the bedspread before someone discovers it later.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok this has a few callbacks to nilchance's "best of you" but honestly I can't gift ALL my fics to them.... c... can I? 🤔  
> A..h.... I didn't expect this to be this long ~~that's what he said~~ ANYWAY ENJOY 8D


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